


Dean's Pistol

by SquirrleyCow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background - Freeform, Dean as a kid, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 21:04:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16542218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquirrleyCow/pseuds/SquirrleyCow
Summary: John promises Dean a 'surprise' before taking him into town, leaving Sammy with Bobby.





	Dean's Pistol

  
  
  
Dean tried very hard to keep his breathing even and calm. Dad had a surprise for him, and it was daylight. Sammy was with Bobby and Dean had _daylight_ hours with his dad! All to himself!  
  
They'd been driving in almost silence and it was killing Dean. He wanted to take this rare opportunity to actually have a normal conversation with John. But what could they talk about that wasn't related to family or work? There wasn't anything else.  
  
Dean swallows quietly, trying to parch his dry throat. He looks sideways at his dad. John was driving with his right hand gripping the steering wheel and his left arm folded against the door, his elbow hanging through the open window. He looked stern, he always looked stern, but today he also looked like he was thinking.  
  
To Dean at least.  
  
John shifts his weight as the Impala growls through the city streets. Dean wants to ask what the surprise is, but he already knows what the answer would be. "It's a surprise, Dean. Don't ruin it." or, if he pushed his luck too far, "Damn it, Dean! That's it, no surprise!"  
  
And he didn't want to risk that.  
  
The silence stretches uncomfortably for the fourteen year-old, but on the outside he manages a calm mask. He nods gently along with the music on the radio. Metallica's _Sad but True_ plays, Dean knew every word.  
  
John changes the station, ignoring his son's singing under his breath. "They hit gold with Ride the Lightning and they've just sold-out since."  
  
Dean wants to defend the band but decides against it before he can even form a counter-argument. It was a learned response. There was no arguing with John, even if he was wrong he wouldn't back down. Not even with his own sons.  
  
John scans through stations until a staticy voice rings through the speakers. He smiles to himself. It's half-wistful, half-wince.  
  
Dean recognizes Pearl Jam's _The Rooster_ and a chill drips down his spine. It was bizarrely one of his dad's favorite songs this year, but it always put him in a mercurial mood. Sometimes it would be the start of a night-long bender, sometimes he would just sit in glassy-eyed silence for hours. Sometimes he would let Dean sit with him and drink a beer while he talked about his war-buddies in Iran and Iraq.  
  
Once, when he was plastered, he even told Dean why they'd kicked him out of the Marines. Shrapnel from the explosion of a nearby Humvee had destroyed his left kidney, most of his spleen and nearly paralyzed him. Dean had seen the lump of scar-tissue over John's torso more times than he could count when he'd had to sew him up after a bad hunt. He never asked what it was from, but after that night he understood his father's bull-headed tenacity a little better.  
  
The song abruptly ends as John cuts the engine. The Impala rumbles to a stop, the cooling engine quietly popping in the cool fall air. John pulls the car into 'park' and steps out in the street. Dean quickly steps onto the sidewalk and shuts his door the same time as his dad. He smiles to himself. He loved when that happened.  
  
"C'mon, boy." John tells him, gifting him a hardly-seen smile of pride. He throws his hand over Dean's shoulder and guides him to the front door of a pawn shop. "Now, we can go somewhere else if you don't find what you want here." John points to the glass cabinet that made the sales counter. "Go see if you like any of 'em."  
  
Dean's eyes widen with surprised delight. Inside the glass cabinets were hundreds of pistols. He glances back at John to be sure it wasn't a trick. John gives him an encouraging smile and nod. "Go on," he gestures happily to the cabinet again and Dean beams back at him before quickly making his way to the counter.  
  
"Mornin'," the owner says flatly. "Buyin' or sellin'?"  
  
"Looking, actually." John corrects.  
  
Dean resists the urge to press his hands and face against the glass. He clenches his fists excitedly in his coat pockets as his green eyes dance over the guns. This meant his dad saw him as more than Sammy's baby-sitter. He saw him as an adult. Even after he stowed-away in the Impala because he knew his dad was in over his head.  
  
Dean walks silently along the cabinet until something catches his eye. He stands in front of it and looks at the owner. "I wanna see this Colt 1911." he tells him, pointing down at the gorgeous pistol. It was engraved with delicate filigree and what looked like real ivory on the grip.  
  
The owner glances at John who nods with an amused shrug. "That's a lot of gun for a kid, 45's have a hell of a kick young-man."  
  
Dean looks back up at the owner without moving his head. "My uncle Bobby has snub-nose colt revolver that shoots .45. I know how to handle a .45."  
  
The owners eyebrows rise and he sighs to himself, unlocking the case. "Yeah, I hear that kinda talk alot around here." He says with resignation, handing the pistol to Dean handle-first.  
  
A thrill runs through Dean's blood when he takes the gun in his hands. Out of forced habit he clears the weapon and checks the magazine. Satisfied it wasn't loaded, he anxiously licks his lips and takes the perfected stance Bobby had taught him. He bends his elbows slightly, his right foot behind his left. Knees bent, right hand gripping the pistol tightly, his left hand wrapped on top of it and finger resting against the trigger-guard.  
  
He closes his left eye and peers down the sight for a few moments before he pulls the gun back to inspect it again. The weight felt...perfect in his hand. It was a beautiful gun.  
  
Dean turns to his dad, unable to hide his excitement. John chuckles with a shrug. "You sure about that one?"  
  
Dean chews his bottom lip and nods once.  
  
"All right, ring it up. Dean, go pick up a cleaning kit and I'll grab some ammo for you."  
  
Dean returned to the register in record speed and John again laughed at his son's excitement.  
  
"Now, I won't be able to stick around and help you get used to that gun. But Bobby will show you everything you need to know, got it?"  
  
"Yes, sir." Dean hesitates a moment. "Th-thank you...dad." The words felt weird in his mouth, he wouldn't realize it until he was much older, but they were one of the few times he'd said that with total sincerity. He decides to push his luck and quickly, but tightly, hugs John's torso.  
  
John jumps slightly in surprise, but wraps an arm around his boy before he could pull away. "You earned it, Dean."  
  
Dean feels like his chest will burst as he releases his dad and stands quietly beside him. He looks down at the carpet so neither man will see the tears that have welled up in his eyes.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
